“No, she’s the right one,” Zwena says with a wink. She misses Mrs. Eisenberg too.
“She really was.” I can’t argue otherwise.
“Zwena, you ready to go?” my mom asks with an extra check of her face in the mirror by my front door. Zwena is dropping Lou, Coco, and my mom off at the Senior Connection, and I am picking them up at 11:00 p.m.A late night for old folks, I had teased my mom, and she had schooled me that since the residents all take late-afternoon naps, the party would and could go into the wee hours if there is enough staff on hand to help everyone back into their beds.
I envelop Lou and Coco in big New Year hugs and then step back to admire the young women they have become. Their hair lies smooth and soft down their backs, and they wear just the right amount of gloss and mascara to highlight the pink lips they got from their father and round espresso eyes they inherited from their abuela. Converse low tops with their minidresses is the perfect style for a couple of kids who are in constant negotiation with their mom over their efforts to become women. I appreciate Coco and Lou appeasing me by staying young for one more night.
Knock. Knock.
“So, you’re willing to spend New Year’s Eve with Uber Eats, but not with me, eh?” Zwena scolds as my mom, Lou, and Coco put on their coats. I don’t have the heart to tell Zwena I have been looking forward to having my Philly cheesesteak, waffle fries, and Diet Coke to myself all week. There’s a formulaic winter wonderland in Vermont rom-comon Netflix that has gotten terrible reviews, and I can’t wait to dig into it and my meal.
“Hope the delivery guy is at least cute.” Zwena crosses her fingers and waves them in my face before opening the door.
“Oh, he’s cute,” she guffaws, embarrassing the delivery boy for sure. I grab the door from Zwena to take my food and rush these women out and on with their night. Only the boy on my front stoop is not a boy. He’s a man. And that man holding my order is Ash Eisenberg.
“You drive for Uber Eats?” I spit out, confused. Zwena smacks me hard on my backside, disappointed that these are my first words to Ash since September.
I had sobbed uncontrollably from Livy’s text of Mrs. Eisenberg’s passing clear through Ash documenting his feelings for me. Through blurry eyes and shaky hands, I had thumbed Livy and Ash back how shocked and sorry I was and would they please let me know when the memorial was scheduled, I would be there. A brief message was returned by Ash that it was his grandmother’s wish that her remembrance of life be kept to family members with a recording of Eddie playing the trumpet in the background as she was laid to rest next to the love of her life. I was so upset that I wanted to write back that if his family was so expansive to include Jewish people, Black people, and a Norwegian, couldn’t they make room for one Puerto Rican, but instead my last words to Ash were that I understood.
Gloria steps forward toward Ash, takes the bag out of his hand, and places it on the entryway table where my purse usually goes. “There, your food has been delivered. Now you two can talk. Let’s go, ladies.” With the same insistent wave she used to get me, David, Gabriel, and my dad to scoot down the pew at the Mission-Dolores church, Gloria ushers Lou, Coco, and Zwena out the door. “Have a good night, Antonia. We’ll see you around eleven.”
Ash peeks into my house to see if anyone else is inside as I say goodbye to my girl posse. Zwena turns around to mouth a dramaticOMGin my direction.
OMG is right,I mimic back because she, too, is about to get one hell of a surprise.
“Hi,” Ash says sheepishly, leaning against the doorframe, a cozy plaid cashmere scarf framing his handsome face.
“¡Que cojones tienes! What are you doing here?” I ask, cautious of his random appearance. I have packed away my emotionally tumultuous year with the Eisenberg family into a compartment in my head and in my heart that I do my best not to visit.
“Enough time has passed. I had to come see you.” Ash pauses, his eyes imploring me to say something, but I don’t. “You’re right, Antonia. It took me a lot of nerve to come here.”
“So why did you?” I’m having a hard time believing Ash didn’t have a better New Year’s Eve plan than this.
“I want to talk as freely as we did that night in Los Angeles. Before everything that happened on the show.” The tremor in Ash’s voice doesn’t come close to the level of trepidation I feel.
I consider his proposition, but I don’t move to invite him in. “Okay then, I’ll go first.” I straighten my posture, shoulders back, feet firmly planted like his grandmother taught me. Ash stands to meet my comportment, not backing down one bit.
“You wanted to invest in Simon, but not in me.” My cheesesteak and waffle fries are getting cold, and my Diet Coke is warming, so I don’t have time to mess around.
“I didn’t want to invest in either of you.”
Ouch. Eso duele.
“Are you kidding me!?” I bark through bared teeth and jab Ash’s chest with my index finger. “¡Eres un comemierda!”
“Did you just tell me to eat shit?” Ash asks incredulously.
“No. It means youarea shit.” I poke him one more time. “Obviously, the night we spent together in LA was a joke,” I accuse.
“It was no joke,” Ash says, defending himself.
“Oh, really?” My juvenile side comes out, and in an instigating voice I let Ash have it. “What about all that, ‘Antonia, you’re so talentedthe investors would be fools not to back you. I believe in you. Lou and Coco will be so proud of you. All the judges are going to fight over you.’”
I run out of breath and my blood is pumping from my racing heart to the fists formed at my sides.
“I looked like a fool on the show. A complete idiota!” I want Ash to know it was all his fault. “You didn’t do a whole lot while I bombed in front of those cameras, but you sure were there paving Simon’s way to investment.”
“My tactic was to push Simon on another judge,” Ash asserts.
